Whilst the Arts Council - until
recently plaything to that cultural luminary, Big Brother’s Peter Bazalgette,
friend and appointee of Jeremy Hunt – has been doing its best to destroy the English
National Opera, ENO has fought back in the best way possible: in the theatre. I
felt ambivalent about this production of The
Magic Flutefirst
time around; it was certainly an improvement upon itspredecessor, but other than that, I was somewhat lukewarm. At the time, I welcomed
its emphasis upon theatricality and the workings of that theatricality, whilst
wondering whether a little less might have been more. That I still feel; it is
not clear to me what is contributed by the writing of ‘The Magic Flute’ on a
screen during the Overture, save, alas, for permitting noisy sections of the
audience to laugh uproariously. If they find that – and, it would seem, pretty
much anything – so utterly hilarious and/or conducive to loud discussion, then
I might suggest that they seek help; the rest of us certainly needed help at
times in order to hear the performance.

Whether the rest had been toned
down a little, I am not sure; maybe I was just feeling less curmudgeonly, in
which case I owe Simon McBurney and Complicité something of an apology; I certainly enjoyed
the production more than I had last time. The sound booths, in which we see and
hear the making or an impression of making of sound ‘effects’ is very
Complicité, of course, and I suspect that some opera-goers loved it because it
was new to them. I still wish that something more were actually done with these
aspects of the production, that there were more interrogation of the work and
what it might mean; yet, by the same token, there is an openness to
interpretation that should not necessarily be confused with non-interpretation.
There was, I thought or at least felt, a stronger sense of magic this time;
whether that were a product of the production’s touring in the meantime, or of
greater responsivity on my part, I am genuinely not sure. Stephen Jeffreys's translation is exemplary; if one is going to perform the work in English, a witty yet serious approach such as this is unquestionably the way to go. It enables one to approach the heart of the work rather than shouting 'look at me!'

For me, however, the strongest
reasons to enthuse were musical. Mark Wigglesworth led an excellent account of
the score. No, of course it was not Colin Davis; but we do not need to hear unconvincing
imitation of past glories. Wigglesworth’s tempi tended to be swifter, although
not unreasonably so; crucially, there was no sense of harrying the score, of
preventing it from breathing. There was no absurd rushing through ‘Ach, ich
fühl’s’, nor indeed through any of the most tender moments. Moreover, the ENO
Orchestra and Chorus, fighting back again where it matters most strongly, were
on excellent form throughout. Orchestral light and shade was present in
abundance, even if I did not especially care for the use of natural trumpets.
(That seems to be the latest fashion with modern orchestras, a fashion I
confess to finding incomprehensible, when modern instruments are otherwise
used.) The chorus, presently
under threat from management cuts, showed incontrovertibly why it deserves
our fullest support, its members as convincing individually as they were
corporately.

Allan Clayton offered a fine
vocal performance as Tamino, although I think the production might have made
him a little more princely. Ardent and lyrical, he was a worthy successor to
Ben Johnson. Lucy Crowe’s Pamina was as touching as one could hope for, musical
and dramatic qualities as one; hers was a performance that would grace any
stage. James Creswell’s Sarastro was unusually light of tone; there were times
when I hankered after something darker, more traditionally Germanic, but on its
own terms, this was an intelligent portrayal, with considerable stage presence.
Ambur Braid may not have hit every note perfectly as the Queen of the Night –
who does, at least on stage? – but hers was a committed, unusually human performance;
I hope that we shall see and hear more from her. Peter Coleman-Wright’s
Papageno confounded expectations. Here we had a highly convincing portrayal of
a bird-catcher left on the shelf, the sadness arising from society’s contempt
for the ageing as much as his usual predicament. (It seems a perfectly
reasonable reappraisal in a work much preoccupied with age, which really had me
thinking.) John Graham-Hall’s Cockney Monostatos showed what a truly versatile
artist this is; it is only a few months ago that I saw him as Schoenberg’s
Aron in Paris. All of the smaller roles were taken well, showing once again
how crucial a sense of company is to performance; if only ENO’s management
would watch and listen.

1 comment:

I saw it last night and it was so refreshing to see a good full sized orchestra for a Mozart opera. When was that last done at ROH? Wrigglesworth's tempi were brisk but the strings sounded rich and warm. The singing on the whole was good and it is one of those operas that work in translation. I enjoyed the production as well. Sarastro's followers being City gents was rather to the point.